“Business is the only thing
between us,” Misha said resolutely.

“Is it?”

Misha knew Talib was right behind her without needing to look back and prove it to herself.

“Is it, Misha?” The back of his hand trailed the curve of her spine. His finger curled into the belt around her robe in case she had any thoughts of moving away.

Talib spun Misha around gracefully and placed his mouth on hers. Her tongue thrust eagerly against his, giving just as much fire as he gave. She was so absorbed in the kiss that she hardly noticed him lifting her up against his body and carrying her in the direction of the bedroom.

Finding her nude beneath the robe, Talib took full advantage. He kissed his way down Misha’s neck and up again, almost painfully aroused by the supple curves on her slender body. Her bottom was full and molded perfectly to his palms when he cupped them. Her breasts were firm, flawlessly rounded mounds that beckoned his lips, teeth and tongue.

Having had his fill of kissing for the moment, he ventured lower.

ALTONYA WASHINGTON

wears many titles. Aside from Mom, her favorite is romance author. Crafting stories and characters that are sexy and engaging with a fair amount of mystery really keeps her busy. When AlTonya’s not writing, she works as a library assistant and as social secretary to an active son—a job that demands the bulk of her time.

Every Chance I Get
Altonya Washington

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Dear Reader,

This is the book so many of you have been asking for. Since his appearance in Hudson’s Crossing, many of you have been captivated by my sexy Brit, Talib Mason. The history between him and our heroine, Misha Bales, has simmered in a sea of unrest for far too long. It’s time for their attraction to be confronted and conquered.

Readers have asked why I chose to make Talib British, and plenty of others have told me just how happy they are about it. It was actually quite exciting to craft another non-American hero, which I’ve done before in other stories. And like before, I’ve had the best time with everything, from the speech patterns and language to the more alluring elements that lurk seductively below the surface of his British persona.

Let’s find out if Misha can hold her own against a man as delectable as Talib.

Be sure to let me know what you think. Email me at altonya@lovealtonya.com and visit my website, www.lovealtonya.com.

Best,

AlTonya

To the readers who wanted more Talib. Here he is!

To the Romance Slam Jam organizers and participants, the book clubs and the LoveAlTonya webgroup.

You all have been such a phenomenal force in my career in so many ways. I wish you continued success in all your individual endeavors.

I feel honored and blessed by your support.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Epilogue

Prologue

August 2005

New York

Talib Mason planned on finding a ticket plastered to his windshield by the time he returned to the parking lot. He didn’t give a damn, of course. So what if he parked on the curb and dangerously close to a fire hydrant? He’d already done well enough to reach his destination without wrecking the car along the way.

He’d spent the better part of the day cursing himself for letting the argument with Misha get so far out of hand. He slammed the elevator button with his fist. To accuse her had been unfair. That story could have only been leaked by someone with inside knowledge. But he had accused her, and he’d been at his cruelest while he’d done it. The things he’d said…

It felt like his heart was about to crush his ribs. It’d been pounding viciously ever since he’d spoken with her assistant.

At that time of night, the corridors of St. Joseph’s Hospital were almost completely silent. The third-shift nurses were either making rounds or engaged in light conversation while gathered around their station. Conversation ceased, though, when the four women at the nurses’ station caught sight of the man who rushed from the elevator and bounded toward them. The fact that he appeared as provocative as sin did nothing to mask the outrage darkening his expression.

“Misha Bales.” Added to his dark expression was the abrupt tone in his voice. The tone was unavoidable, given his fear that he was about to lose her. The usually seductive level of his British-laced brogue came across as harsh and dangerous.

Given the circumstances, the nurses were hesitant to release any information. They exchanged uncertain glances. This did nothing to soothe Talib’s temper, already teetering close to the edge of explosion. Silently he warred with himself, gripping the edge of the counter as he bowed his head. Security was but a button’s push away as he was sure the nurses were well aware. Thankfully, the world wasn’t completely against him.

“Talib? Talib, is that you?”

He heard his name and saw Dr. Lettia Breene approaching the station.

The lovely full-figured obstetrician wore a concerned frown as she could all but feel the tension in the air. “I hope you’re here for a checkup.” She took note of his haggard appearance, then asked the nurses, “What’s going on?”

Talib responded first. “Misha’s here, Lett.”

“Misha?” Lettia turned back toward the nurses.

RN Connie Wesley checked a book on the desk and nodded. “Car accident, Dr. B.” She looked toward her colleagues who were all nodding.

“It was about four hours ago,” Nurse Adrian White added and passed Lett the report on Misha. “The EMTs said she had to be pried out of the car.”

“Jesus,” Talib moaned.

Lett set aside the chart and put a hand on his shoulder. “What room is she in?”

Minutes later, Talib was being directed toward the unit where Misha was being treated. The six-foot-plus former linebacker had to lean on the doctor when he saw Misha bandaged and resting in the dim room.

“God,” Lettia whispered. She was just as devastated as Talib was, shaking her head slowly in disbelief.

“It’s my fault.” Emotion had rendered Talib’s voice raw.

“Shh…” Lettia rubbed his back. “Honey, blaming yourself won’t do either of you any good.”

“It’s my fault.”

“Talib—”

“Don’t tell her I was here.”

“But, Talib, she’ll—”

“Swear it, Lett.”

“Honey, why?”

“Just swear it, Lettia.”

She nodded, even as she searched his face in wonder. “All right,” she said when he took her shoulders.

Satisfied, he turned back to Misha. She was already uncommonly small and the bed she occupied looked gargantuan with her in the middle of it.

“Will she…be okay?” His voice wavered while he brushed his thumb across the bruises darkening her jaw and cheek.

Lettia nodded, easing a hand into the pocket of her white coat. “From what I read in the chart, everything points toward her making a full recovery. It’s gonna take time though. She banged herself up pretty badly.”

Talib leaned in close to study Misha intently, as if he were trying to memorize her features—battered as they were.

“Remember, you swore not to tell her I came here.”

“Tal—”

“Lettia.”

“I won’t.”

Gingerly, Talib kissed an uninjured area on Misha’s forehead. “I love you,” he whispered against her skin, and then left the room.

“Tal…Tal? Talib…” Misha was stirring mere seconds after the door closed.

Lettia glanced over her shoulder, debating on whether to go after Talib. Instinct told her that a line had been crossed between the couple and it was best to let things be.

“Talib…I…I’m sorry.”

“Honey, shhh…” Lettia spoke near her friend’s ear.

Misha rolled her head slowly across the pillow. She frowned, trying to open eyes that were swollen shut.

Lettia pressed a hand to her hair. “Shh…honey you need to rest. Shh…”

“He has to know I’m sorry. He has to know it….” Her words could barely be heard as they tripped past her bruised lips.

Lettia kissed the spot Talib had earlier. “He does, hon. He does.”

Chapter 1

Present Day

Asher and Riley Hudson’s Bedford home swelled with talk and laughter. Guests filled practically every room of the lovely two-story Southwestern styled house. People were still arriving, their vehicles circling around as drivers searched for parking space on the stadium-size lawn.

The guest list may have been a tad lengthy for a baptism, but no one wanted to miss out on the chance to meet the newest and cutest Hudson. The fact that a baby was the guest of honor put all parents in attendance at ease. No one had to search for a sitter since all kids were welcome. The younger children had a wonderful time breaking in Ahmad Hudson’s elaborate playground set while the older ones enjoyed several rounds of basketball on the two courts the property boasted. For adults and kids alike, the gathering was a sheer delight.

Happiness loomed over everyone. Everyone, that is, except the guest of honor’s godparents. Thankfully, a fair share of business-talk intermingled with the afternoon’s events, occupying Talib and Misha just enough to keep their thoughts and eyes off one another.

Such was the case when Misha stood near the bar cooing with her godson/nephew and nuzzling her nose to his cheek.

“Already got the man buyin’ you drinks, huh?”

Misha laughed at Tony Geraldson’s remark and gave the baby a tiny bounce. “A woman’s gotta train a man early,” she told the heavy-set bartender.

Tony laughed when the five-month-old in Misha’s arms cooed as though he were voicing his opinion on the matter. Misha’s dark eyes glinted merrily but she tilted her head when it appeared the baby was looking elsewhere. Turning, she discovered what had sparked the child’s cheerful outburst.

“Talib.” Her glee vanished.

“Misha.” His voice was soft. “You need help here?” He was already leaning close to tickle his nephew’s cheek.

Misha bristled when the scent of his cologne teased her nostrils. “We’re good.” Her voice was tight yet her expression softened when she looked back down at the baby.

It was easy for Talib to take note of the vinegar in her voice and he smiled. Knowing he was playing with fire, he moved a tad closer. “Shouldn’t you ease up a bit?” His dark gaze spanned the length of the bar.

“Counting my visits?” She rolled her eyes. “Could you hurry with that ginger ale, Tony?”

“Got it right here, Misha.”

She turned and gently set Ahmad in his uncle’s arms. Without another word, she took her drink and stormed off.

Talib pressed a kiss to Ahmad’s forehead and watched Misha disappear into the crowd. “Now I’ve done it, haven’t I, mate?” He chuckled as the baby seemed to coo in agreement.

“What the hell do you mean, you’re sorry?” Misha had bolted away from Talib only to have her temper freshly stoked when her best friend forbid her to leave.

Riley cringed and waved her hand to ward off Misha’s frustration. “I hope you don’t whine like that around Ahmad. ’Cause I’ll bring him over for you to deal with if he ever starts it.”

Misha folded her arms over the draping bodice of her dress. “Well, I’ll be happy to take him home with me right now. I just can’t stand to be here for another minute. No offense.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Riley didn’t veer from her task of adding more hors d’oeuvres to a platter while lecturing Misha at the same time. “And is it the party or Talib you’re running away from?”

“Oh come on now, Riley.” Misha reached over to swipe two of the goat-cheese pastries from the platter. “You know, this is some thanks I get after all my understanding about you and Asher.”

“Dammit,” Riley hissed, almost cutting her finger upon listening to Misha. “Right. Understanding. Well, if understanding means feeling kicked around by your best friend, then I guess you were tremendously understanding.”

“Motherhood has made you cold.” Misha’s tone was matter-of-fact.

Riley finally took pity and turned to cup her friend’s face. “What’s this really about?”

Misha pulled Riley’s hands away. “It’s really about him being here. Him being back in my life, so to speak, after six years when he’s supposed to be back in Phoenix. Even if it is just temporary.”

“Right.” Riley puffed her cheeks nervously and turned back to the goat cheese spread.

“Hold it.” Misha grabbed Riley by the chain belt at her waist. “Spill it.”

“I really need to get this stuff out—”

“Riley!”

“All right!” She set the knife on the counter. “Well, you already know he’s here helping Asher with the new office.”

“Right. And?”

“And…he may be here awhile.”

“What’s ‘a while’? Weeks?” she probed when Riley wasn’t forthcoming with an answer. “Months? Months, Riley?”

“Oh, stop it, please.” Riley propped a hand to her hip. “You knew this wasn’t something that could be done overnight.”

“Just tell me he’s definitely going back to Phoenix and not moving out here.” Misha leaned against the counter and rested her face in her hands. She looked up when Riley didn’t respond right away.

“He’s definitely going back to Phoenix and not moving out here.”

“Humph.” Misha’s lashes fluttered as she rolled her eyes. “I’d be better off asking Asher.”

“Ha! Like he’d tell you anything Talib asked him not to. Those two are thick as thieves.” Riley shrugged and turned back to the platter. “I used to think we were thick as thieves.”

“What are you talking about?” Misha’s tone was absent as she worried over Talib’s next move.

Riley tucked a clipped lock of her hair behind her ear and grimaced. “When are you gonna share the real and full story on you and Talib?”

Misha stopped biting her thumbnail and frowned at her friend.

“I know there’s more you haven’t told me.”

“What more is there to tell? You know the messiest part of it all.”

“That you went down an ugly road.” Riley went to put the spread back inside the refrigerator. “That’s all you told me and to this day I’ve got no idea what that means.”

“Jeez, Riley, do you need me to spell it out for you?”

“Yes. You bet I do when I see you this way. Running from a man isn’t something you do. I’ve seen you pounce a lot of brothers but never run from them.”

Misha’s wrapped hair covered her face more fully when she bowed her head again. “They weren’t Talib.”

“Will you promise to come and talk to me if you need it?” Riley decided against putting on more pressure and extended her hands.

Misha accepted the offer and kissed her friend’s cheek before they hugged.

“This is the most important thing anyone will ever tell you, man. Fumble is the worst word in the English language.”

Talib and Ahmad were catching the last quarter of a pre-season football game while they relaxed in the den. Talib occupied one of the deep suede armchairs and propped his feet up on an ottoman. Ahmad was beginning to doze from his cozy position near his uncle’s chest.

“What’s goin’ on, fellas?” Asher greeted when he found the two camped out before the television. “What’s the score?” He tickled Ahmad’s cheek then chose a spot on the other armchair.

“Twenty-eight, twenty-one. Not in our favor,” Talib announced.

“How’s Wade?” Asher referred to one of their newest clients, Nevil Wade.

“Sharp as usual, but the bloke can’t do much with the so-called help he’s got.”

Business consumed the conversation for several moments. In the midst of it, Talib kissed his nephew’s head and passed him over to his dad.

“So why’re you holed up in here?” Asher queried when a commercial broke into the game. “Tons of people out there are wanting a second of your time.” He tossed his tie over his shoulder and settled in more comfortably with Ahmad. “I’d appreciate the truth,” he tacked on. Seconds passed before he accepted there would be no response from his friend. “You and Misha avoiding each other when you want to be right next to each other…seems pretty stupid.”

“I’ve been considering more exposure for the new branch.” Talib slipped his feet back into the polished tan wing tips he’d been sporting.

“Are you crazy? We’ve been getting exposure left and right.”

“Print exposure.”

Asher smiled. “What have you got in mind?”

The look Talib slanted was answer enough.

“Hell, man, why don’t you just go and talk to her?”

“That’s all I want.” Talib stood and walked over to lean against the tall pine bar in the room. “But she wants no part of it—of me.”

“That’s a lie, you know.” Asher’s voice was light as he nuzzled his son’s hair.

“I’m not so sure it is, Ash.” Talib studied the invisible pattern his index finger traced into the bar top. “She’s more than angry with me. I suspected it before, but now I know.”

Concern shadowed Asher’s light eyes. “You know what?”

“She’s terrified.”

“Of you?”

“I think so. No, no, that’s not right.” Talib pushed off the bar and strolled the room. He stroked the silky whiskers darkening the honey tone of his face. “No, I don’t think she’s terrified. I’m bloody sure as hell of it.”

Misha found solace on a secluded bend along the back porch. She wiggled to a more comfortable position on a cushioned seat and heard a crinkle from the paper she accidentally sat on. She smiled, finding several outdated newspapers belonging to their competition. Silently, she commended Riley’s thoroughness. The girl always liked to see what the other guy was doing, so she could take it one step further—one step better. Despite that, Misha felt her approval waning when she saw a copy of The First Beacon.

Misha placed aside her disgust and browsed the paper. But it just returned full steam when she saw that the Beacon had added a new section to the paper. That week’s edition boasted the debut of “The Word on Entertainment” by editor Justine Duke.

“That shady wench.” Misha seethed with anger as she conjured the image of her former colleague and greatest enemy. The woman’s irresponsible reporting had caused several upsets between Riley and Asher. Not to mention the upsets between Misha and Talib.

Misha felt her anger gradually taper into anticipation. The need for a slice of revenge was rising sure and steady.

“There you are!” Gloria Reynolds’s firm voice filled the area when she waltzed around the corner. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“Well, you found me.” Misha made room on the lounge chair and watched as Gloria angled her tall, curvy frame next to her.

“The baby’s baptism is turning out to be the biggest business party of the season.”

Misha had to laugh at the woman’s excitement. “I’ll bet you’ve got enough scoops to keep The New Chronicle thick for the next year.”

“I won’t deny that.” Gloria gave a quick toss of her auburn locks. “But it’s not The New Chronicle I’ve collected the biggest scoop for, but The Stamper Court.” She spoke of the new publication Riley had been slated to run with Misha as her chief editor.

Intrigued, Misha sat up a bit straighter on the lounge chair listening as Gloria talked of a feature on Hud-Mason.

“We’ve already got Asher’s and Talib’s blessings to run with the thing. The co-owners are eager for as much exposure as possible.”

Misha knew that wouldn’t be difficult for them to obtain. Talk of the successful agents was everywhere. Even the advertising world had caught the fever. Talib’s and Asher’s faces were gracing everything from NYC subways to billboards in Times Square.

Misha noted that an exposé would be great for her and Riley’s new publication which was garnering almost as much talk as Talib’s and Asher’s new venture.

“Are we talking more of a background piece or something more specialized?”

Gloria bit her thumbnail and considered the question. “Oh, this would definitely be more specialized.”

Misha reached for her phone to input notes, but realized she’d left it in the baby’s nursery when she first arrived at the party. “Well, I can put Coyt Parsons on it.” She ran down the project in her head. “He’d love the opportunity. He certainly does have a flair for flashy writing and this would probably call for just that.”

“You may want to wait on that.” Gloria scooted to the edge of the lounge. “The board is gonna insist on you handling it.”

“Why?” Misha moved to the edge of the lounge, as well. “I’m an editor, Gloria, not a writer. Trust me, I know my limits.”

“That may be, but you writing the story was the one thing they insisted on.”

“Right.” Misha leaned back and regarded her publisher with clear suspicion in her tilting onyx stare. “Is this what Riley and me are gonna have to look forward to with our new publication? Will the brass always insist on how we should handle our stories?”

Gloria was about to respond, when she paused and looked past Misha. “Not our brass, hon.” She patted her hand to Misha’s knee and stood.

Misha followed the direction of the woman’s gaze to Talib Mason.

Chapter 2

“Talib,” Gloria greeted the man with a nod and soft smile. She hurried from the porch, tuning into the fact that war was in the air.

“What are you doing?” Suspicion all but blazed from Misha’s eyes.

When he approached, she retreated. Talib noticed and it triggered his frustration anew. He moved forward until he’d invaded her personal space quite adequately.

“When would you like to start meeting to discuss the story?”

Misha attempted to make a move around him, but he wouldn’t allow it.

“I can send someone out first thing on Monday,” she said.

Talib slipped a hand into a side pocket of his cream trousers and bowed his head. “Gloria did tell you we expect your personal attention on this, didn’t she?”

“Do you realize that I’m a very busy woman?” She blinked hair from her eyes so he could see the full extent of her emotion. “I don’t have to be involved in every stage of research to write this story, you know?”

“For this story, you do. Take it or leave it.”

Her smile was sweet. “I’ll leave it.”

He stepped aside when she tried to move past him that time.

“Your bosses aren’t going to like that you walked out on one of the biggest stories of the year.”

“Spare me, Talib. You and Asher are everywhere. I’m sure the world knows all about the two former ballers making yet another splash in the agenting world they already rule.”

Talib took a seat on the porch railing. “No one else has this part of the story—the background on who we are—who we really are.”

Curiosity winning out over suspicion, Misha walked toward him. “Exactly what is your intention for this feature?”

“What time may I expect you on Monday?”

Misha muttered under her breath and attempted to control her temper. “Don’t for a second think you can rile me in my own business. I don’t know yet what you’re trying to do—”

“Trying to do, love? I’m trying to give you a story.”

“Mmm-hmm, I know what you’re trying to give me, Tali.”

“Is that so?” She was close enough to touch and he took advantage. “Why do you keep running from me, then?”

Misha didn’t try to twist out of the grip he had on her forearm. Patiently, she waited for him to release her but discovered too late that he had more in mind first.

The kiss and caress that followed wasn’t forced. Misha leaned into it willingly, needingly. Talib loosened his hold on her arm the instant their lips met. He didn’t move from the rail and only began to caress her when she moved closer. Her hair brushed his hands when he massaged her back and shoulders. Whimpering sounds vibrated from both of them while their tongues fought a slow duel. Misha raked the silky curls tapered at Talib’s neck and arched closer into the powerful wall of his chest.

Reluctantly, Talib acknowledged that he’d have to be the one to end things. He’d take her right there against the rail if he didn’t let her go soon. Breaking the kiss smoothly, he let his mouth trail her neck.

“So when may I expect you on Monday?”

The words, no matter the elegant tone they were delivered in, were like a cold splash. Misha twisted away from him.

“I’ll call you.” For the second time that afternoon, she stormed away from him.

Talib’s cool expression merged into one less certain. Slumping on the railing, he prayed this plan of his would have a chance at actually working.

“What’s Talib done now?” Riley drawled while setting her baby’s stuffed animals to a far corner of the crib.

“Why don’t we talk about how long you’ve known about Justine Duke’s new publication.”

Riley’s hands paused on the toys. “You know I always keep up with the competition.”

“But you had to know I’d be interested in something like that. Why wouldn’t you tell me?”

“Because I didn’t want you flying off the deep end about the woman. You almost lost your mind over the crap she pulled before and with your history…”

“Riley, please, you’ve got no idea about our history.”

Riley made sure the baby’s monitor was on, then firmly ushered Misha into her bedroom which was connected to the nursery.

“I need my phone,” Misha said, remembering.

“It’s already on the nightstand.” Riley motioned for Misha to sit down on the bed next to her. “Talk.”

“What—” Misha spread her hands “—is this about, Justine?”

“This is about you telling me the rest of what happened. Now.”

“We… Justine and I worked together before—”

“Hell, Misha, I know all that.”

Wearily, Misha leaned forward, resting her elbows to her knees. “There was a client…Talib and Asher were preparing to sign him. They were just starting up the agency. Talib had been in town wooing clients while Asher was still setting up shop in Phoenix.”

Riley got up and moved over to sit on the vanity stool before her dresser and listened.

“Anyway, the guy they were going after the hardest…he was a real jerk. Nothing like Vic,” she said, referring to The New Chronicle’s former fact-checker and Hud-Mason’s newest client, Victor Lyne. “Ray Simmons was his name. I got to meet him a few times at some parties Talib took me to. That was enough to tell me that the guy was just in it for the money. At the time, me and Justine were both working for The First Beacon.” She shrugged and curled against a pillow lining the headboard.

“We were good colleagues. Not friends, but good enough coworkers to feel comfortable bouncing ideas off one another. There was the occasional chatter about men and dates. I told her about Talib, meeting his new client and how money hungry the guy was.” Misha leaned back and folded her arms across her chest. “Justine was trying to make a splash with her entertainment features even back then. She was a so-so writer, looked down on being an assistant when what she really wanted were full-fledged reporting creds. She figured Ray Simmons was just the ticket. So she wrote a splashy story on the guy and got the paper to run it because he had connections to the up-and-coming Hud-Mason agency. Humph, Hud-Mason never had the chance to sign him. Justine’s story revealed that Ray held no loyalties to anyone—he was going with whoever got him the biggest bucks. Another agency worked up a deal for him and scooped him right out from under Talib and Asher.”

“Talib didn’t take that too well, I guess.”

Misha gave a mock salute in Riley’s direction and closed her eyes on the memory.

“Men take betrayal far more seriously than women do. He was like someone I didn’t know. He accused me…accused me in ways and of things… He said I’d slept with him for the story. It took days before I even knew what the hell he was talking about.”

The despair in Misha’s eyes tore at Riley’s heart. She wanted to go to her, but resisted, knowing there was more to the story.

Absently, Misha fidgeted with the frame holding Asher and Riley’s photo on one side and Ahmad’s ultrasound on the other. Seconds passed before she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and raised the hem of her dress. She rubbed the scar at the bend of her knee.

“This won’t ever heal, which is probably a good thing. That way I’ll always have a reminder of—”

“The accident.”

“Of why I had the accident.”

“Misha—”

“I was completely out of it. Talib was the only thing on my mind. It’s a wonder I knew where my keys were, let alone how to drive a car. I’m still amazed that I didn’t kill myself.”

Riley bristled then but knew she had to ask. “Is that what you were trying to do?”

“No. No.” She spoke without hesitation and repeated the word when Riley stared. “I love living too much for that, but that night…me and Talib would’ve been together three years if that story hadn’t broke. We met at a charity event. It was his third year in the league. I was there with someone from work. The guy couldn’t dance worth a damn but it was a good networking opportunity. I’d just met someone from the Beacon and gotten an interview. I was even feeling good enough to risk my toes to a poor dance partner who twirled me right into Talib. His date was not thrilled.”

Riley covered her mouth when she laughed.

Misha’s amusement didn’t last. “Three years later he couldn’t stand my guts. That story came out and he wouldn’t even give me the chance to explain. I saw him that day, tried one last time to talk—it didn’t go well at all.” She pounded a fist to the gray comforter. “None of this was my fault. Idle chatter with a coworker who took it and ran. I thought about that, getting madder and crazier every minute. Then I got in my car.” She left the bed and walked to the windows overlooking the backyard.

Riley nodded, finally understanding her friend’s real fear.

“I can’t fall for him again.” Misha turned her back on the windows. “Correction. I can’t fall any deeper for him. If it fizzles again… What if the next time I get in my car…”

“Hey.” Riley left the stool and came over to smooth her hands down Misha’s arms. “You’re smarter than that. Way too smart to let something like that dictate a decision not to have a future with the man you love.”

“Talib doesn’t love me.” Misha shook her head, not willing to speak to the status of her own emotions then. “I don’t know what he’s up to, but it isn’t about love.”

“And how are you so sure?”

Misha flinched and turned back to the windows.

“So the question you have to answer is, why do you still want to keep Talib away?”

The party finally thinned out a couple of hours later. Riley insisted on Misha taking a nap in one of the guestrooms. When she woke, Misha decided to leave through the back and call later to let Riley know she was okay.

But leaving through the back was out of the question once she reached the garage and found her Acura blocked in by a black Navigator. She didn’t have long to curse the driver, who arrived moments later.

“What the hell?” She waved toward the hulking vehicle.

“Slipping out through the back, what would our hosts say?” Talib chastised as he crossed the carved stone pavement.

“Move it, Talib.”

“What time shall I expect you on Monday?”

“Didn’t I say I’d call?”

He was standing over her so suddenly she hadn’t even noticed he’d quickened his pace.

“It would be unwise for you to continue to play with me on this. I’m as busy as you are.”

“Then you’ll understand why I can’t drop everything to come running when you command it.”

His dimpled smile emerged then and he rubbed the material of her bodice between his thumb and forefinger. “I remember a time when you always came running for me.”

The suggestion in his words had her leaning back on suddenly weak legs. “Well, I’m not that girl anymore.”

He backed off, as well. “No, you’re not that girl anymore. You’re a high-powered editor whose bosses won’t appreciate knowing we haven’t even set up our first meeting.”

“And you’re a jackass.”

“Then you should understand how uncomfortable I could make this for you, love.”

“Is it really worth it, Talib? The agitation?”

“I, for one, don’t see it as agitation. And yes, it’s really worth it.”

She watched him for a long moment and then stopped trying to figure him out. “Fine. Monday at ten.”

He grinned. “Make it nine. You can treat me to breakfast.”

“Talib, you—”

“I really like that place Red Sun.” He was already striding off to move his car. He started the engine, backed out and left the truck idling while Misha fumed.

For the third, and what she hoped to be last time for that day, she stormed off. She was frustrated that Talib convinced her to take the meeting and even more frustrated to admit to herself that she wanted to.

Chapter 3

Over a mug of coffee on Monday morning, Misha thought about all that had happened between her and Talib during the past several months. Going back any further than that was dangerous.

She stayed in for the remainder of the weekend following Ahmad’s baptism party. She wouldn’t call it cowardice. New York was a big place. It wasn’t like she was going to run into Talib at every turn, for Pete’s sake. Breakfast that morning would be more than enough “together time.” Besides, she’d needed the rest of the weekend to mull over Riley’s insights over her real resistance to Talib’s sudden interest.

She wasn’t afraid of a relapse but of something else she couldn’t or wouldn’t admit. What did that mean? She smirked into the coffee mug and berated herself.

Jeez, Misha, can’t you even be honest with yourself in your own damn house?

What she couldn’t or wouldn’t admit was that she still loved him so very much that the emotion went far deeper than falling for someone. She loved and was in love with him as much as she’d been the day she’d cursed him and gone mad over the fact that he didn’t believe in her.

There was more to that in-house admission, but before she could continue, the bell rang. She checked her watch, realized she wasn’t wearing one and frowned when she noticed that the clock above the dining-room table read 7:35 a.m. What the hell?

“What the hell?” She uttered the phrase aloud when she opened the door to Talib. “It’s 7:35 a.m.”

“I thought I’d give you a lift.”

“You know, regardless of my record, I can still handle a car, Talib.”

He closed his eyes. “You know I didn’t mean it that way.”

“I know how you meant it. I’ll see you there.”

He wouldn’t let her close the door. “And what sense does that make?”

“All the sense in the world, considering our breakfast appointment isn’t until ten.”

“Nine, remember?” He walked inside. “Besides, I thought you might like an idea of what we expect with this story.”

“So now you want to talk about it?” Misha let the door slam and followed him into the living room. In awe, she listened to him go on about the message they wanted to send with the piece. “Did you come here to tell me how to do my job, Talib?”

He didn’t answer straightaway. Instead, he strolled the apartment, loving the soft warmth radiating from the comfortable yet elegant décor. He didn’t comment, knowing she wasn’t ready to hear compliments from him.

“I spoke with Gloria.” He unbuttoned the hunter-green suit coat and eased one hip onto the edge of the dining table. “She agrees that a detailed human-interest piece is best. We’d like to show folks that Hud-Mason is more than another shallow company scraping up millions for pampered athletes.” He folded his arms and stared thoughtfully at the artwork lining her walls. “We were thinking of maybe a three-or four-part series.”

“Are you insane?” She bolted toward him. “I don’t have time to devote to something that expansive! Talib!” She followed him when he left the table and disappeared down the hall leading to her bedrooms.

“Gloria gave it the green light and we don’t want anyone else on it but you.”

Misha was seconds away from raining blows across his back but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of watching her come undone. “Would you just go?” She spoke as softly as she could.

“But we haven’t had our breakfast yet.” He was studying her DVD collection next to the flat-screen television in her master bedroom.

“I think you just explained everything we were going to discuss.”

“And now we can enjoy our food without business interrupting.”

She massaged the bridge of her nose and turned away when he advanced. “Business is the only thing between us.” She sighed.

“Is it?”

Misha knew he was but a touch away without needing to look back and prove it to herself.

“Is it, Misha?” The back of his hand trailed the dip of her spine. His finger curled into the belt around her robe in case she had any thoughts of moving away.

“Is it?” he insisted.

“Talib, what do you want from me?” She almost moaned and received her answer seconds later.

She was turned promptly and kissed thoroughly. Like before, like always, she responded in kind. Her tongue thrust eagerly against his, giving as much fire as his gave. She was so intent on the kiss, so absorbed in that fantastic cologne he wore that she hardly registered him hoisting her against his body and following her down to the bed.

Finding her nude beneath the robe, Talib took full advantage. Without a care for his tailored three-piece suit, he threw himself into the task of pleasuring both Misha and himself. Misha bit her lip and let herself go. She’d denied herself a man’s touch for so long. To now be with the man whose touch she truly craved bordered on heavenly.

Talib kissed his way down her body, almost painfully aroused by the supple curves on her slender form. Her bottom was full and molded perfectly to his palms when he cupped them beneath her. Her breasts were small, firm, perfectly rounded mounds that beckoned his lips, teeth and tongue. And when he had his fill of tonguing her nipples into a frenzy, he ventured lower.

Misha tunneled her fingers into the silky dark curls covering his head. Gradually, she took stock of their position—more accurately her position. Half out of her robe and flat on her back beneath a provocative, impeccably dressed male. Silently, she completed the admission which had been interrupted when Talib first rang the bell. The thought drained her arousal and instead of gripping his shoulders to draw him close, she began to push him away.

Talib tuned in easily and didn’t try to coax her into going further. This wasn’t the time, yet he was approaching the point where he nearly didn’t care. This was happening far more quickly than he’d expected, but then didn’t everything where he and Misha were concerned?

He allowed himself a moment to graze his nose across her belly and the faint dusting of curls above her womanhood. Then he muttered something about letting her get dressed and left her alone.

Red Sun at 8:50 a.m. was of course a madhouse. The Japanese-owned eatery was anything but the usual. The breakfast menu spanned the globe and easily appealed to an extensive array of tastes.

Misha couldn’t find a thing she wanted to order. Talib handled it all as though her sour mood hadn’t fazed him. She snapped her fingers suddenly as if she’d been wracking her brain to come up with a discussion topic and finally latched onto one.

“We should set up some meetings to cover the story.”

“Later, all right?”

She was opening her mouth to insist.

“I also wanted to invite you to a party.”

“With you?”

Talib stroked his jaw. “Isn’t that the way it’s done, love?”

“I can’t, I… The baby, the baby’s party put me so far behind.” She fidgeted with a lock of her hair. “I just don’t have the time.”

“I haven’t even told you when it is.”

Misha clenched her fist beneath the table and waited.

“Consider it research for the story.” Talib smiled as their waiter approached. “It’s for a new client—about a week and a half from now.”

Misha managed to remain silent until after her coffee and Talib’s tea had been placed on the table.

“You really have lost your mind, haven’t you?” She flopped back on the redwood chair and laughed shortly. “Either that or you’re just in need of a little side entertainment while you’re in town and torturing me is the best you could come up with.”

“Maybe I am daft.” Talib spoke as if he were talking to himself. “Because I’ve got absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Do you remember the last client party I attended?”

Talib frowned. “Vic?”

“Not Victor.” She rolled her eyes then glanced across her shoulder to see if anyone had noticed her outburst. “Ray Simmons,” she hissed.

Talib had truly forgotten, for his powerful frame tightened visibly the moment he heard the name. He was quiet, coolly going about sweetening the hot tea in the mug before him.

Misha was about to take a sip from her black coffee when Talib’s fist suddenly came down on the table.

“Will we ever get past all that?” He grimaced, not expecting an answer. “I guess not, especially when you won’t even let me talk to you about it.”

“It ruined us.” Pain clearly colored her words. She kept her eyes focused on her coffee. “But it was only one of the things that ruined us—all the rest built slowly.”

“Crickey, Misha, what rest?”

“Come off it. I was never good enough for you and you made that pretty damn clear when the Ray Simmons story broke. How many times did you say my supposed betrayal was something you should have expected from a woman like me? A slut that would sleep with a man for a story? And why not? Hell, I grew up with nothing, so why not do whatever it takes to have it all, right?”

Talib was speechless and stunned. He watched her as though suddenly realizing what her anger, her fear, was about.

Misha looked away, stunned as well that she’d admitted so much. She kept her face turned when the waiter arrived with their meal.

“Misha…” He didn’t know what else to say when they were alone.

She considered it a blessing when they were interrupted again seconds later by a few men who’d gotten wind of Talib’s presence at the restaurant. Of course they all recognized Misha, admiring her blatantly as they greeted.

“Why don’t you guys stay?” She left her chair quickly, waving at the fruit, croissants and cheese on her plate. “And help yourselves—this hasn’t been touched.”

She was almost home free when Talib caught her wrist on her way past him.

“We’ll talk later, all right?” His thumb slipped beneath the cuff of her blouse to caress her bare skin.

“Not about…” She glanced back toward the table where the others were already making themselves comfortable. “Not about what I said.”

“Sure, but we’ll talk later, all right?” he insisted.

She had no choice but to nod.

“Very impressive, Mr. Hudson,” Misha raved when she saw Asher leaving the elevator.

At once Asher’s light stare was less serious and more playful. “Well, hey!” He approached his wife’s best friend with open arms and enveloped her in a tight hug.

“I hope I’m not interrupting. I just needed to see you for a second.”

“Stop talking silly.” Asher kissed her cheek, then moved back to frown into her face. “Is everything all right?”

The words weakened her resolve and Misha cursed her visible reaction. Asher took heed and ushered her someplace more private.

“Sorry,” Misha sobbed when they were behind the closed doors of Asher’s office. She curled up on a sofa in the corner. “Thanks.” She took a deep sip of the black coffee he provided.

“Stop apologizing and tell me what the problem is.”

“What’s Talib up to?” she asked the moment he joined her on the sofa. “Why’s he so hell-bent on us…being friends all of a sudden?”

Asher’s smile was slow and knowing. “I think you know he wants more than a friendship.”

She nodded. “So it’s about sex,” she said as though that possibility were easier to handle.

Asher’s chuckling filled the room. “It’s about love.”

“He doesn’t love me.”

“Now look. I’ve been friends with Talib for a while now. And even though he keeps mum as far as the two of you are concerned, I swear that he does. And what’s more I don’t think he’s ever stopped. But I’ve already said too much.” He took the cup she’d drained. “Y’all need to talk and stop avoiding it because you’re afraid of the past.”

“I can’t handle that. I don’t have the strength—not a second time.” She pushed her hair away from her face and cleared her throat. “He’ll see that…he’ll see once he’s done deluding himself that two people like us never had a chance.”

“Well, I can’t speak to whether he’s deluding himself, but I do know Talib Mason is a finisher. He doesn’t quit midstream.” Asher made a bridge with his fingers and shrugged. “This may not sit well with you, but I don’t know what will make him stop until he’s seen this through to the end.”

Misha arrived late to the daily budget meeting for The Stamper Court. The business crew always gave their input toward the end of the meeting. Staff writer Trenda Greene was giving her report when Misha got there.

“You okay?” Riley asked when Misha took the seat next to hers and nodded quickly.

“Is there anything else, folks?” Riley addressed the group when Trenda concluded her report. “Wendell?”

“We all know this subject’s taboo here at The New Chronicle.” Wendell Stevenson tapped a hand to the stack of papers he stood before. “But I feel it’s important to note that our competition has seen healthy revenue increases since they’ve added entertainment sections to their pubs.”

Everyone groaned. Some threw wadded balls of paper at The Stamper Court’s accountant. Overall, The New Chronicle family was pretty much in agreement that celebrity gossip wasn’t the sort of news they were interested in. Since one of their own ran in such circles, much of that agreement was in a show of support for Riley’s and Asher’s right to privacy. Besides, Cache Media, the Chronicle’s parent company, never complained of the money woes which had driven the competition to incorporate more sensational news into their publications.

“I just think it deserves to be mentioned!” Wendell smiled when the group silenced. What the accountant lacked in height, he made up for in strength of voice. “The brass at those pubs are already crediting their entertainment inserts with the revenue surge—more revenue means more readers. Readers who most likely aren’t reading our paper.”

“Thanks, Wendell.” Riley made a note to her agenda. “The Court, as you know, wouldn’t be able to accommodate such a section, but you’re welcome to carry your suggestion higher up the chain.”

“Yeah, Wendell, maybe you could write the first piece.” Frederick Mears’s comment roused a chuckle from the table. “I’ve heard rumors of a boxer who may be havin’ an affair with his sister.”

“All right, everybody. Meeting adjourned! Thanks, Wendell.” Riley smiled apologetically. She and Misha remained seated while the room cleared. “You look drained,” Riley said while swiveling her chair to and fro.

“I just saw your husband.”

“Ah.” Riley folded her arms across the gold cap-sleeved sweater she wore. “He does have that effect on women.” She tilted her head, hoping to rouse a smile from Misha.

It worked, but only for a moment. “He said Talib loved me—that he wouldn’t give up until he saw this thing through between us.”

“How do you feel about that?”

Misha only shook her head.

“You know whatever’s happening or about to happen is only gonna put you through more hell unless you step up and face him.”

“Humph.” Misha rested her head against the chair and smiled. “You’re right.”

“’Course I’m right.” Riley nudged Misha’s boot with the tip of her pump and believed she was seeing the first genuine smile her friend had produced in days. “Why are you giving him all this control over your emotions, anyway? Show him who you are, who you’ve become. Make him eat his words for requesting you on this story. Torture him a bit. The driver’s seat should be shared, right?”

Misha shook her head over Riley’s cunning. “You’ve definitely been hanging around me way too long.”

Chapter 4

Talib was tapping an envelope to the crease of his trousers when Asher walked into the office the next morning. Finding his partner perched on the edge of the desk and staring past the windows brought a slight sharpness to Asher’s expression. Then he noticed Talib scan the envelope and smiled.

“That what I think it is?”

“An invite to Jasper and Molly Faison’s couples’ weekend,” Talib explained.

“When they first mentioned it last year, I was sure it was just talk.” Asher grinned and went to shuffle through the folders his partner left for him to review. “Why’d you get an invite?”

Talib laughed shortly. “No bloody idea.”

“So whose day are you gonna make by asking?”

Talib studied the invite again. “There’s only one who that I’d want to take.”

“Misha.” Asher settled down in an armchair before the desk and crossed his legs at the ankle. “You know there’s a good chance she got one of those, too.”

A low sound rumbled in Talib’s throat and he tossed the dainty envelope to the desk. “Do you think she’d take someone else?” He looked around to see Asher shrug. “You know something.” He turned to face his friend. “Is she seeing someone?”

“Calm down, Tal.” Asher easily recognized the rising rage in his partner’s dark eyes.

“Has Riley said anything?” Talib left the desk and walked over to observe the cloudy day. “Hell, it’d make sense if Misha was seeing someone. She’s…an incredible woman. And I’ve certainly got no claim to her.”

“Would you stop this, man?” Asher grimaced and walked over to slap Talib’s shoulder. “Why don’t you just ask her to go? See what she says.”

Talib stroked his jaw methodically, turning the idea over in his head.

“You’re afraid she’ll say no if you ask?”

“Half.” He leaned on the window. “The other half is afraid she’ll say yes.”

Again, Asher slapped Talib’s shoulder and turned for the office door. “I guess you just have to ask which half you’re more afraid of.”

Misha was seated at a table in the popular but unusually quiet Orton’s Café. To her delight, she’d beaten the lunch crowd and secured a cozy table with a fine view of the rainy conditions past the bay windows lining the establishment.

Unfortunately, the view was lost on Misha as she was currently engaged in an agitating phone conversation with her best friend.

“Well, I had nothing to do with it,” Riley insisted. “And you knew Jas and Molly were planning it when we were all out at Vic’s ranch.”

Misha slumped against the booth as her memory freshened.

“And they probably just invited everyone who was out there. Anyway…”

“Anyway…?” Misha prompted as she straightened. “Riley?”

“I mean it’s…it’s understandable that Molly would invite you and probably Talib, too. Anybody can tell there’s still emotion there.”

“Well, I haven’t—”

“Now hold on, just hold it.” Riley’s voice was near a whisper. “I don’t even think you or Talib are aware of what you give off. In my very humble opinion, I say you guys should at least talk it over, lay all your cards on the table. Maybe that’s all it’d take to start moving past all the drama.”

“Easy for you to say.” Misha rolled her eyes at her laptop resting on the table.

“Hey, I’ve been there, remember?”

“I remember.”

“So let me share what I’ve learned, okay? Maybe you can get some use out of it. Heck, put it to use tonight at Vic’s dinner party.”

“Crap.”

“You forgot about that, didn’t you?”

Very much so, Misha silently confessed to herself. The New Chronicle had put together a celebration to honor its former employee and his first year as a professional basketball player.

“Thanks for reminding me.”

“Where are you, anyway? What’s all that background talking?”

“I’m gonna try to help Coyt fine-tune his revisions to some of his pieces.”

Riley laughed. “Good luck with that.”

Misha nodded, thinking of their overly descriptive junior staff writer. “Anyway, we’re meeting over here at Orton’s.”

“Well, I’ll let you get to it, then. Think about what I said, all right?”

Misha promised to do so and was tucking the cell into her bag when she looked toward the café’s entrance for Coyt. She found Talib Mason entering instead, along with two men she didn’t recognize.

“More hot water for your tea, ma’am?”

Misha looked away quickly from the front of the restaurant and barely nodded to the waiter’s offer. She thought about the invite tucked away inside her purse and wondered if Talib had gotten one. He probably had a string of women to choose from as his date. She tried to deny the stab of jealousy the thought evoked.

Risking another glance, she saw Talib and his group had moved on. Just as well. Sighing, she turned to her laptop and focused on one of Coyt’s pieces.

Talib settled for hot tea while his companions asked for black coffees.

“We think Duck’s a phenomenal guy—phenomenal stamina, phenomenal intelligence—simply phenomenal.”

The more “phenomenal” Ducker Conrad sounded, the more certain Talib became that Wade Casey was at his wit’s end.

“He’s giving you trouble, I assume?”

The vice president of the Nevada Blaze appeared to lose some of the stiffness in his shoulders. “We’d like to keep this quiet, Talib. No need for Duck to get wind and get bent out of shape.”

“More than he already is?” Talib asked.

Benny Austins chuckled. “You got a way with the kid, Tal. Everybody knows that. It could go a long way if you step in here.”

“What problems are you having with him exactly?” Talib asked the Blaze’s general manager.

Benny exchanged a frustrated glance with Wade and raised his shoulders slowly. “The kid just flips, Tal. Breaks bad over the simplest instruction. The coaches are almost fed up. You know how that kind of unrest can affect the rest of the players. And in that case there’s only one solution.”

Talib’s grimace remained in place when the waitress returned with their hot tea and coffee. It could be an agent’s nightmare working to place an athlete once word spread of attitude trouble. The situation could turn into a nightmare regardless of talent or the reasons behind the unrest.

Wade Casey leaned forward. “Don’t get us wrong, Talib. We want to keep Ducker with the team. He’s got the skill and smarts to be one of the greats—all the coaches think so.”

“If you and Ash could try talkin’ to him,” Benny urged, while lacing his coffee with an obscene amount of sugar.

“Maybe the fact that you guys are aware of what’s going on might help him get on the good foot,” Wade added.

“We’ll try.” Talib knew the promise was empty. It’d take more than he and Asher simply being aware of the trouble to do the trick with Ducker Conrad.

The waitress returned then for orders, but no one had even glanced toward the oversize menus on the table. The men focused on deciding their lunch meal and quiet settled all around.

Not surprisingly, Talib’s attention returned to Misha. He’d spotted her three seconds after he’d cleared the café’s front door. His conversation with Asher replayed silently. It hadn’t veered far from his thoughts since that morning.

The possibility of her seeing someone was one he’d refused to entertain during the past six years. Dwelling on that particular possibility was dangerous and pointless to boot. And now? Now, it was just as dangerous but worthy of acknowledging.

And what then? Would he bulldoze his way over any other who thought to put up a fight for her? Would he back away and let her stroll off into happily-ever-after with someone else? While he wouldn’t consider himself as coarse as to follow through with bulldozing over some unsuspecting soul, walking away wasn’t an option. Walking away didn’t even merit contemplation.

Moments later, though, Talib was revisiting his decision not to bulldoze some unsuspecting soul. He watched one stroll right up to Misha’s table and take a seat.

The lunch meeting with the Nevada Blaze execs ended a little over half an hour later. Talib waited at least fifteen minutes past that. He was glad the café didn’t serve alcohol until after 5:00 p.m. or he’d have downed at least six stiff drinks while watching Misha across the dining room with her date.

Instinct told him it was all probably work-related. More than once he saw them referring to her laptop. Sadly, common sense rarely prevailed during moments like this. Talib commended himself on at least having enough sense to wait until the poor sap left the restaurant. He left the waitress a hefty tip and headed toward Misha who was packing up to make her exit.

“Good afternoon.”

She prayed he hadn’t noticed her jump at the sound of his voice. Having already figured he’d not pay a visit to her table, she’d let her guard down. “Afternoon,” she managed.

He scanned the booth. “Am I interrupting?”

“I’m just finishing up.”

“May I have a minute?” He was already sliding into the seat across from her. “Will I see you tonight at Vic’s party?”

“Well.” Misha cleared her throat as if that would ease the pressure of her heart slamming hard and fast against her rib cage. “Since the Chronicle’s hosting the thing…”

“Mmm-hmm.” Talib studied her hands, one rubbing inside the other. “And will I see you at Jasper and Molly Faison’s couples’ thing?”

“Why’d they invite you?” Misha blurted out, even as her eyes closed in regret over the question. “I mean, you, um…you were invited, too?” She attempted to save face.

“I was just as surprised. It’s not like they know I’m seeing anyone.”

“Are you?”

“Not at the moment.” He pretended not to hear the interest shading her voice. “Not for a very long moment, actually.”

Misha didn’t bother hiding an expression which clearly stated she didn’t believe him.

“And what about you?” He focused again on his hands as he inquired. “Seeing anyone?”

“Not at the moment,” she sweetly countered.

“Ah, I see…not at this very moment.”

Misha leaned back against the booth and produced a knowing smile. “He’s a coworker. One of the writers for Riley’s section.”

“Did I ask?”

“In your way.”

“So I guess you won’t be taking him to Jasper and Molly’s?”

Heart slammed ribs again. “I may not be taking myself,” she muttered.

Talib rubbed his thumb along the table’s silver edging. “I hear they’ve got a great palace out on Long Island—it would be a shame to deprive yourself.”

“What do you want, Talib?”

“Go with me.”

For a time, she could only stare. “Why? So we can be at each other’s throats the entire time?”

Talib continued to study the silver grooves lining the table. “There’s more than one way to be at each other’s throats.”

“Oh, Talib.” Misha laughed. “What you want, you could get from anyone. Easily.” She let him see the appraisal in her eyes.

Before he could take note of it, there was a rush of women to the table, all wanting an autograph from the former footballer. Obliging to a fault, Talib smiled and agreed.

Misha went about packing her things and checking dates on her calendar while Talib handled the adoring women.

“Pray tell why you wouldn’t want to take a sure thing on a trip like this.” Misha slid a gaze toward the women who’d gotten their autographs and were moving on. Frequently, they cast looks back toward Talib.

“We need to talk,” he said.

“It still comes back to that, huh?” She knew he was referring to her breakfast outburst days earlier. “It’s still not something I want to discuss.”

“You can’t keep walking around it, love.”

“There’s no point in doing otherwise.”

“Misha—”

“All right, look, I’ll agree to go with you to this couples’ thing on the condition that we drop this. We don’t discuss it, period, take it or leave it.”

Spreading his hands, Talib accepted the terms with a smile. He rose as smoothly as he’d taken his seat, kissed Misha’s cheek and left.

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